of copy machines and coffee
by innercornerhighlight
Summary: He checks her out like a library book. One shot, Amy-and-Ian-as-teachers AU.


"Long day, Ms. Cahill?"

The half filled cup of coffee Amy has raised to her lips threatens to slip out of her grasp and smash into a hundred pieces on the floor when she hears the deep English accented voice pronounce her name.

Amy slowly turns to meet the teasing onyx eyes of Ian Kabra. She hates the fact that she notices how good he looks today, his tall frame encased in a dark suit that emphasizes the broadness of his shoulders, dark curls artfully tussled.

"Yes, and you?" Amy manages, taking a long sip of her bitter beverage as Ian's perfectly shaped lips quirk into a boyish smile.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, and shrugs. "It's always a long day when you have to teach a room full of twelve year olds the exciting applications of the Pythagorean theorem."

Amy's cheeks are warm as she smiles up at him, "probably not as exciting as explaining the causes of the Second World War!"

Ian laughs, shaking his head. "Anything you teach would be exciting," he flirts, cocking his head to the side.

And that's how it starts.

A brush of hands against the copy machine here, an exchange of 'good morning's at the school gate there. When she's grading papers at her desk in the teacher's workroom - a string of pearls around her neck, auburn tendrils falling out of a loose bun, brow furrowed in concentration - he loiters along the filing cabinet a few moments longer than he needs to, checking her out like a library book.

When the Math Department holds a meeting in an empty classroom after school, she sneaks a peek through the window to see him - head of Maths, of course - standing at the front of the room, leaning on a desk as he commands the room with his easy charm. He writes something on the blackboard, and Amy notices that he is left handed.

He spots her walking down the hall, a few paces ahead of him, and accelerates into a sprint to catch up with her, trying not to pant as she says hello and asks him how his grading was going.

They are both chaperones at the dance, and he watches how she hovers over the table of refreshments with her delicate features arranged in a shy smile, the prettiest girl he's ever seen, in a mint green summer dress.

He catches her eye across the hazy room (someone had insisted on a smoke machine), and grins, waving his left hand at her before he thinks he looks like an idiot and stops.

"Mr. Kabra, we're out of punch!"

Ian is snapped out of his little trance as the little girl frantically calls for his help. He tells her he'll take care of it, and makes his way to where Amy is perched, watching him approach with apprehension in those long lashes jewel toned eyes.

"We're out of punch," he announces with mock urgency, slipping off his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder.

Her laughter is music to his ears, and he is painfully aware of her standing over him as he bends down to pick up a new crate, popping open the cap to pour the sweet beverage into a large glass bowl.

"Crisis averted!" She sings, and his low chuckles form a chorus with her soft giggles.

He walks her to her car when they've managed to pack the children and the gymnasium up when it's over, the jangle of her silver bracelets cutting through a comfortable silence.

"This one's mine," she murmurs, smiling at him over her shoulder as she fondly pats the hood of a silver Ford Fiesta. As she looks up at him, hands clasped together and chin tilted upwards, he wonders what it would be like to kiss her goodnight.

He stops wondering and learns when her fingers are tugging at his collar, soft, full lips against his, all tongue and teeth, his hands all over her, tugging at her skirt as he lifts her up with ease and places her on the hood of her car.

She reluctantly pulls away, cheeks flushed and red hair a mess while her lips are swollen from his kisses.

"I should get going," she says, before she slips off her car hood and almost makes head on contact with the ground before he catches her by the waist.

"I'll see you on Monday?" She hopes, as he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

"How about you see me tomorrow night at seven when I pick you up for dinner?" He smirks, and she rolls her eyes, playfully pushing him away.

"Only if you promise not to talk about the Pythagorean theorem!"

* * *

just some cute fluffy Amian I found in my notes from a while ago! I hope you like it !


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